


Conversations I'd Wish I'd Had

by Draikinator



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Rape, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:38:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3178922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draikinator/pseuds/Draikinator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drift likes to pretend he knows what he's doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversations I'd Wish I'd Had

**Author's Note:**

> Um... okay this is actually the first time I've written anything nsfw so... please be gentle, and also, yeah, you can see the warnings. Be mindful! This has all the themes from DRift's Rodion days, so. This was supposed to be a smutfic but it... turned out not really being a smutfic at all actually. so yeah. sorry about that!

This was it. Moment of truth.

Drift moved his hands lower, running the tips of his fingers just barely into the seams of Ratchet's midsection in all the ways he remembered blocky frames like his liked- deft motions, brief but strong, pressing just under the edges and dragging themselves back out. It was less of a science than an art, but Drift  _had_  been starving, and you know what they say about starving artists.

He was definitely doing this. He was  _definitely_  doing this. All the terrible flirting between moods, and the terrible drinks between shifts had been leading  _precisely_  to this moment, and he  _definitely_  wanted to do this.

Definitely.

Ratchet's hands were on his thighs, thumbs grinding into his headlights and they were slowly, steadily stepping backwards in the general direction of the berth as they ran their hands in between seems and over smooth metal chestplates, mouths entangled. Drift was certain he was doing something wrong on that front- sure, he was plenty experienced in the berth, but kissing had always been too intimate, too foreign. He  _liked_  it, he was just certain he was very  _bad_  at it (if ratchet's grunts every time his glossae ran into Drift's pointed dentae were any indication) and by the will of  _Primus himself_  he was going to do this  _right_  tonight, he was  _not_  going to frag it up. He  _wanted_  to do this, had had  _planned_  to do this, he was  _going_  to do it, he was going to do it  _so well_  Ratchet would want to do it again and  _again_  and by Primus- he was  _doing this_.

And suddenly, the backs of his knees hit the berth, and he was going down- slower, than he expected, with Ratchet's hands on his shoulders. Pharma's hands? It was hard to think straight, now, like this. No, they were Ratchet's. They  _had_  been Pharma's, but they were Ratchet's, now, the same red as his helm, as his pelvic plating- which was grinding his own, hot and and hard, arrays still sealed away behind layers of steaming plating. Drift ran both his hands up Ratchet's sides, pressing against the metal with his palms before wrapping his arms around Ratchet's neck. He was doing this. He was  _definitely_ doing this.

Ratchet's mouth was back on his- when had he lost it?- and Drift recognized the quiet hiss of Ratchet's interface panelling sliding apart.

Oh slag. Was he doing this?

His hands faltered for a brief moment, uncertain- the word  _art_  reverbrated vaguely in his mind and he tried to remember what he was supposed to  _do_. It had been awhile and the  _last time_  had been Turmoil and at this point  _that_  had been "wait until he's done," and before that had just been "do whatever they tell you and then take your money and go." That wasn't even  _close_  to romantic, though, and he was going for  _mind-blowing_  here, so neither of those options were super valid- not unless Ratchet planned on telling him how he liked it, which, based on how occupied his mouth seemed right now, seemed unlikely.

He needed to do  _something_ , though, Ratchet's  _panel_  was out, and oh, Primus, he could feel him dripping on his thigh, and he was so  _hot_  and  _Primus_  he only had one shot to get this whole stupid thing right, and-

He dropped his right hand down, quickly, twining the fingers of his left into the panelling on the back of Ratchet's neck and pushed a finger into the swollen folds of Ratchet's valve, quick, probably  _too_  quick, but his energon was pulsing in his lines and his plating was hot and he had to at least  _look_  like he knew what he was doing. Ratchet grunted in a way that sounded appreciative, fans spinning a notch louder as he leaned over him, huge and blocky and  _beautiful_  in ways Drift was terrified to break, and Drift collected himself, trying to remember what he used to do. Memories, bleary from the syk and further muddled from the boosters floated to mind, disjointed, but his old notes and plans came back to him, ingrained in every file- how to get this over with.

His hands fell into a surprisingly familiar rhythm- surprising, because these weren't even the same hands. The hand in Ratchet's valve slowed, rubbing the soft inside delicately, moving the pad of his thumb to the sensitive anterior node and giving it a gentle circular rub in a smooth, practiced motion. Ratchet moaned into his mouth, and Drift moved his other hand to Ratchet's waist, grounding himself. He could  _definitely_  do this- he knew  _precisely_ what he was doing, and as long as he stuck to what he knew, he could do this and do this  _well-_

One of Ratchet's hands fell on his interface panel, rubbing along the seamline, and he made a noise. It wasn't a good noise- something high, and terrified and breathy, and he dimmed his optics all the way and crushed his lipplates against Ratchet's in a way he hoped would distract him from the noise, because this  _had_  to go well-

And Ratchet was pulling back.

Drift onlined his optics, slower than he'd meant to. Ratchet hadn't even said anything, but he was staring at him with this peculiar, questioning look, mouth hanging open in a pant. Drift realized his hand was still between Ratchet's legs, fingers pressed against the moist mesh and he yanked his hand back like he'd been burned.

"Sorry," Drift mumbled, and he let his head hit the berth behind him with a solid, satisfying thunk. His optics fuzzed for a moment before settling on the dim white of his hab suite's ceiling. Frag.  _Frag_. He'd fragged the entire thing up- after all the careful flirting, and the reading and research he'd fragged it up  _now_.

"You okay?" Ratchet asked him, voice raspy with static.  _Ugh_.

"I- slag, I mean- I-" Why was he  _stammering_? Sure, it had been _awhile_ , but it hadn't been  _that_  long.

Ratchet frowned and pushed himself back onto his pedes.  _No, no, nonononono._  "Kid, we don't gotta do this if you don't wanna."

He whined, actually  _whined_ , but it cut into a sharp growl when he realized what kind of noise he was making and he crushed his fists against his optics, frustrated, "No! Frag- I mean,  _yes_ , I did- I do- I just-" He uncurled his fingers and pressed his palms against his face, "I fragged it up, I'm sorry. I don't- I don't really know-"

Ratchet chuckled, "Don't really know what you're doing? I wouldn't have pegged you fo-"

"-Don't really know how to do it without somebody getting hurt," Drift finished, and clicked his optics off with a sigh. This was already going the opposite of well- He wasn't leaving a good impression. He should have waited. He should have taken Rodimus up on his offer to 'practice.' He should have done  _anything_  but invite him back to his habsuite to 'show him some requisition notices.' Yeah, right. Smooth, Drift.

There was a sharp  _snk_  as Ratchet's panel snapped shut and Drift bit back a groan. He'd ruined everything,  _again_. Scraping sounds on his right, the quiet pinging of cooling metal. He onlined his optics, dim, hesitant, and shifted one arm away from his face. Ratchet had settled next to him, just far enough away that they weren't touching.

"Sorry, kid, I wasn't thinking," He said after a moment, most of the static cleared from his voice.

"Sorry for what?" Drift asked, honestly.

"...I shouldn't have pushed you into this."

Drift pushed himself onto his elbows, "You didn't push me into anything. I'm- I'm being honest, I just don't- I don't really-" Drift frowned, "I wanted this."

Ratchet leaned against the wall side with a smirk, "Want _ed_. Well, at least we cleared that up before we went to far, huh?"

Drift dropped his helm and covered his optics with the flat palms of his hands and  _groaned_ , "Yeah, I did before I fragged it all up," he sat up, grabbing a cloth from his subspace to wipe at the cooling lubricants on his thigh, "Look, if you wanna pretend this never happened, that's fine, I won't- tell anyone, or anything, just- don't stop talking to me, alright?"

Ratchet made one of those 'pfft' noises that would have thrown Chromedome into a fit, "Calm down, kid."

Drift frowned, "I'm plenty calm."

"Why'd you ask me over if you didn't want to do this?" Drift clenched his fist around the cloth, before he shifted feet and subspaced it again, moving back to sit next to Ratchet on the berth.

"Like I said, I did..." He made a face, and moved his optics down, rubbing the plating on the back of his neck self consciously, "I just wanted... I just wanted you to like me."

That stupid  _pfft_  noise again, "Was all the flirting not clue enough? Yeah, I like you."

Drift frowned, "Well, yes, but I'd meant- actually like me."

Ratchet frowned, "I don't have to frag you to care about you, you know."

Drift felt his spark pulse uncertainly, "I... know that."

Ratchet raised an optic ridge.

"I know that!" Drift repeated, "I just thought..." he trailed off. He didn't even know  _what_  he thought.

Ratchet sighed, "Look, Drift, we don't gotta do anything 'face wise- not right now, or ever, if you don't want, but that doesn't mean  _I_  don't want you." Drift's head tilted up, surprised. "Er- if that's alright."

Drift was too stunned to react other than to say, "Really?"

Ratchet just nodded.

Drift let out a vent he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and leaned forward onto his knees with a chuckle, "Oh.  _Oh,_ " he ran a hand over his finials, before looking back at Ratchet. "Would it be weird if I asked if you still wanted to stay tonight? Just to- you know. Stay?"

That  _noise_  again. Chromedome would be  _livid_  by this point, "C'mere," Ratchet said, shifting to the side, and Drift moved forward into the space between Ratchet and the wall that he'd vacated. One of Ratchet's hands fell onto his shoulder pauldron, loose, but warm, and he moved into the space with a content sigh.

"Thanks, Ratch," Drift said, quietly, pushing his helm under Ratchet's chin. 


End file.
